


All In

by Hoodoo



Series: Poker? I Hardly Know Her [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: A Dared Kiss, Aftercare, Alien Booze, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dare Poker, Double Penetration, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings Realization, Gifts, Hair-pulling, K-Lax, Masturbation, Miami Rick's Penthouse, Nudity, Orgy, Poker, Possessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Rick kissing Rick, Voyeurism, minor daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-14 11:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Rick C-137 invites you along to his standing poker game with some of the boys--alternate versions of himself. You have no money and only a rudimentary knowledge of the game of poker, but don't worry, they'll find a way to make it work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A request was made for a game of Dare Poker with the Ricks listed.  
> 

You’d known Rick Sanchez for a little bit of time. Not known known him—not that the thought of that hadn’t crossed your mind, but he didn’t seem incredibly interested—but well enough to know that he suffered your presence because you weren’t freaked out by some of the things you saw him doing in his garage, and that happened around the Smith household.

As a sci-fi author, you asked a lot of questions. He even occasionally answered some, and your editors praised your realistic knowledge of things you really didn’t know anything about. 

Because everything had potential to be added to a story, you didn’t hesitate when he asked if you’d be a fourth for a poker game, because the other regular had an unfortunate accident with some bootleg portal fluid.

You’d have to ask for specifics about that some other time. The moment you agreed to accompany him, Rick produced his own portal gun and conjured a doorway. He led you through. You stepped out into a lavish penthouse, tastefully furnished, with wide windows overlooking a city you didn’t recognize.

“Come on over!” someone called.

Rick hadn’t told you that the other two people playing were alternate versions of himself. That was a surprise that took you an awkward moment to work through. 

“That’s Rick,” Rick introduced to you, indicating one of them. “He’s a cop.”

Unsure of what to call him, you say with hesitation, “Officer Sanchez?”

“I’m off duty. Just Rick is fine,” he replied.

Before you can make a stupid joke about how easy it was going to be to remember everyone’s name, the Rick you’re familiar with gestures to the other one, who stood up as you’d neared the table. 

“And this is Rick. Owner of this fine domicile and our host for the evening.”

You see yourself reflected in his sunglasses. He holds a hand out, and you put yours into his palm. If you were expecting him to do something oddly gallant, like kiss your hand, you’re disappointed. He just squeezes your fingers lightly.

“You can call me Miami,” he tells you. Then he looks over the tops of his frames at you. “Or Daddy, if you’re feeling particularly comfortable.”

You chuckle, not quite sure how you’re supposed to reply to that.

“So! We doing this or not!” the Rick you know says, clapping his hands. “I got a good feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight!”

⁂ 

Once seated at the table, you realize the inherent mistake in agreeing to accompany Rick: you have no money. And you’re not intimately familiar with the game.

“No worries, doll,” the cop told you, when you admit the second problem, and proceeded to give you a run down on the basic rules. Most of it you don’t remember, but some basics seem logical. 

Miami makes sure everyone has something to drink. He doesn’t ask you what you’d prefer, if anything, but goes to the bar, pours something out, and comes back with a flute of slightly effervescent liquid.

“Champagne?” you asked, accepting it. 

He gives you half a shrug. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

You lift the glass to your lips.

“Don’t drink that too fast,” Cop cautioned.

At his warning, you modify how much you take in. The fluid is just slightly viscid, lingering as a thin coating inside your mouth even after you swallowed. The flavor of it seems to strike all the taste buds on your tongue simultaneously: bitter, sour, salty and sweet. It’s bracing. The sweet note lingers in your mouth the longest, and you can tell it’d be easy to drink a lot of it, very quickly. 

You took another sip—same feel, same taste—and thanked Miami before setting the glass to your left. 

Rick had been shuffling the cards impatiently, and grumbled at Miami to sit down and stop playing goddamn host. As he took his seat, Rick expertly doled out the cards. 

The first few hands are practice rounds. Rick and Miami griped a little, but Cop insisted, for your sake. Their banter is mostly inside jokes and talking about other Ricks you have no clue about, interspersed with questions about you. You mostly occupied yourself with trying to keep what hand beats what and sipping your drink. 

You tipped the glass back without looking at it—you’re staring at your hand and trying to remember from the quick recitation of the rules you’d been given if three tens is better than two aces—and suddenly realize it’s empty.

That was awkward. You must look like a noob.

None of them say anything, but Miami does get up to refill your glass.

Once he’s done, Rick looked around the table. “So are we really playing tonight or what?”

Miami handed you your glass back and you take a gulp. Even after only one glass, your head already felt a little light. 

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “Let’s do this thing!”

Rick snorted. You get the distinct impression Miami is sizing you up from behind his glasses, and Cop shook his head but dropped it too, to hide a smile.

“Except . . . except I don’t have any money?” you finished, in a much smaller voice. 

You don’t miss the glances they throw each other.  


“I’m sure we can come up with some compromise,” you’re told.


	2. Chapter 2

Which is how you came to play dare poker with three Ricks. 

_Dare—_ they said. 

_Strip_ was a more accurate descriptor.

But that was only because you were not so great at playing cards, and at least Rick and Miami were cheating. You hadn’t caught Cop cheating yet—okay you hadn’t technically caught the other two either, but both of them seemed fully capable of palming cards or shuffling the deck in a way that benefited them—but you kept a suspicious eye on him. He was probably the type to count the damn cards, and there wasn’t anything you could do about that.

So you were now down to your bra, panties, and mismatched socks. At least you wore something matching, and not any random ratty underthings. The others had put aside insignificant clothing. A lab coat and a tie. And Miami oh so generously removed both a necklace and a ring when he lost a hand. You were embarrassed but not as much as you probably should have been, thanks to the drink that seemed to refill itself whenever it got low. Your head still felt a little detached from the rest of you, but it was pleasant, not unnerving. You could still think mostly straight, and didn’t slur any words, so if this was the inebriation you got from alien booze, it was a good one.

Then!

A miracle!

After being dealt a hand that wasn’t too bad—an open-ended straight draw! An ace or a nine is all you need for that straight!—you watch the Ricks around you. None of them fidget or cough or give any other tell as to what their hands may be. 

The round starts.

Cop requests two new cards. Rick asks for three. Miami, sitting directly across the table from you, takes one, and makes an open-palmed gesture to you.

“One,” you tell him.

He deals it.

It’s the ace you need. To cover your delight, you take a gulp from your glass.

The others banter a little; Rick rearranges his cards. The second round starts. 

Cop asks for two again. Now Rick grumbles, hems and haws, and asks for two. Miami takes one new, and this time, you hold.

That catches their attention.

“You sure, doll?” Miami asks.

You nod.

“Okay.”

Rick taps out, and gets up, announcing he has to take a piss. Cop frowns, finally, and sighs. 

“I’m out too,” he tells you all, dropping his cards on the table.

“Just you and me, then, Miami,” you say.

“You’re getting cocky,” he retorts mildly. 

You shrug. 

He studies you, you think. It’s hard to tell exactly where his eyes are behind the mirrored lenses in his glasses. Then he says, “Wanna make this hand worth something?” 

Your face pinches a little, in confusion. He grins at your bewilderment.

“Just something more exciting than taking clothes off. Winner can ask for something more. Like . . . a kiss. Or something. What do you say?”

You consider this. He added that little extra ‘or something’ to his suggestion, which could be exciting, or weird . . . 

You come to your decision, and smile. “Sure, Miami! That sounds . . . fun.”

Cop shifted a little in his seat, like he was trying to subtly adjust his position. 

A smile crawls over Miami’s face, like he wasn’t expecting you to agree. Rick makes his way back to the table.

“What’d I miss?”

“An upped ante,” Cop tells him, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Ready to see who wins?” you ask Miami.

“You know it, doll.”

Without a flourish, you both reveal your cards. Your straight versus his two pairs. The toothpick Miami’d been rolling from side to side almost falls out of his mouth. Cop lets out a breath that turns into a laugh. Rick snorts too. You sit back in your chair like you’re relieved. 

You will never let on that you could see his cards reflected in his glasses. 

After a second, Miami joins the other two and laughs. 

“Well played, doll. You haven’t been hustling us, now have you? Rick didn’t invite a ringer along?”

You assure him you’re not.

“Well then . . . you win. What’s your poison?”

Suddenly, your heart starts pounding more than when you were dealt a good hand. “I’d like a, uh . . . well . . . I’d like a kiss, I guess.”

That signature grin slides across his face again. “Maybe that’s a win-win situation for both of us, doll.”

Your heart still wants to escape your chest, but you look him directly in the eye. Or as directly as you could, while being mildly drunk.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant: I want a kiss between you and him.”

It takes Cop a second to realize you’re pointing directly at him.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a pause, and then Rick bursts into real laughter. He fumbles his flask out and takes a pull, while the other two absorb and digest your words. 

Cop looks stunned. Miami looks thoughtfully at you. You can see him weighing his options, and wonder if you’ve stepped over a line that maybe you shouldn’t have. Miami’s gaze shifts over to Cop. 

Cop turns to you. “You made that bet with him, not me!”

“You didn’t fold first. I’d have picked Rick if he hadn’t wussed out so early,” you tell him, like that’s just logical and fair. “And this is dare poker, right? I won the bet with Miami, but I dare you.”

That drink gave you courage you’d never had before. 

Miami nods slowly and removes his toothpick and glasses, setting them both on the table. “All right, babydoll. A bet’s a bet. And I’ve done a lot more for a lot less. Come here, Rick. Don’t be a pussy.”

Cop looks like he wants to protest again, but he doesn’t. He gets up and Miami does too.

“And not just a peck on the cheek! A real kiss!”

Cop shoots you a look like you might be pushing it, but Miami steps into his personal space and takes slips his hands around the other man’s waist. 

“It’s cool, Rick,” he reassures him. “That toothpick is mint. I’ll taste good.”

“Don’t pretend you’ve never frenched a guy before,” Rick adds, to your left. 

Now _that_ is interesting information . . .

A much more venomous look is directed at Rick, but he just laughs it off. 

Before Cop can back away or object, Miami tilts his head and kisses him.

There’s a bit of tension, at first; Cop’s back stiffens and his hands spasm into fists, but it dissipates much more quickly than you would have expected. As Miami shifts a little, sliding his mouth on the other man’s lips, those fists and his spine loosens and Cop’s hands reach up, one to Miami’s shoulder, the other to the opposite hip. 

With the position they’re in, you see exactly when Cop opens his mouth and the initial touch of tongue on tongue between them. The kiss deepens then. Matched in height, there’s no awkward stretching as the two press against one another. Miami’s fingers tighten in the material of Cop’s shirt, and the hand on Miami’s hip moves a little further back, with a little stronger grip.

You’re sitting here almost nude, but the room suddenly is much too warm.

Then, as quickly as it began, the kiss ends.

A thin string of saliva tethers the two as Cop pulls back, a little. He lets go of Miami and a smile, almost gone before it formed, crosses his face. Miami smiles back and helps straighten out the fabric he’d rumpled, then the two step apart. 

“There you go, doll,” Miami says. “You need a second to collect yourself?”

In fact, you totally do, but if you stand up to go to the washroom you’re worried all three of them will be able to see the damp in the crotch of your panties. Instead, you just shake your head with a smile, thank Miami, and commend Cop for being a good sport. 

Miami shifts his gaze to Rick. “You’re pretty quiet now, Rick. Jealous it wasn’t you?”

The Rick who brought you here mutters something that you don’t quite catch under his breath, and a new hand of poker is dealt.


	4. Chapter 4

That was the only luck you got. The game became a little more intense now, and the next time you thought you could actually win a hand against him, Miami—who hadn’t put his sunglasses back on, thwarting any miniscule advantage you had—offered the same, “Wanna make this interesting?” idea, and firmly put you in your place with four of a kind over the pathetic hand you thought you could bluff with.

“Your turn, doll,” he told you, as you tried to sit up straight and take his unknown request with dignity. He doesn’t keep you in suspense. “I’m gonna need you off of all the rest of your underthings. Stand up, take a few steps back, and let me see all of you.”

It certainly could be worse, you supposed. Of course, your continued drinking made everything feel a little disconnected, so that helped immensely.

You figure he won’t want you wearing just socks, so you slip those off before you get up from your seat. Carefully, in case the wobbly feeling in your head telegraphed down to your feet, you obey. You stand for a second, then walk away from the table. That liquid courage bolstered you, and with your back to the group of them, you shimmy out of your panties, bending over at the waist as you do. None of them say a word. Then, with what looks like deliberation but is actually just a slight loss of dexterity from the booze, you unhook your bra and let it drop.

Crossing your arms to cover your breasts, you slowly turn back around. You step the rest of the way out of your panties as you do.

Before any of them can request it, you uncover yourself. Your hands cup your breasts for a moment, then you let them go to your sides. You wait. 

Three pairs of eyes are riveted to you, with varying degrees of hunger lighting them up. Rick wipes his chin of excess drool. Cop takes a lungful of air and holds it longer than a full breath, and shifts in his seat like he did earlier. This time he also drops a hand to the crotch of his trousers and re-adjusts himself unobtrusively. Miami openly looks you up and down.

“You ever get an eyeful like that?” Cop asks Rick, quietly.

“Nope,” he replies, taking another drink, “even though she doesn’t pull her blinds down and undresses in front of her window at night. Too much ambient reflection from the streetlights to get a good look. Now I kinda wish I would’ve asked without you two around . . .”

You made a note to have a little chat with Rick about his peeping tom activities later, and to find the expendable cash in your budget to buy some blinds.

Miami taps a finger on his cheek. 

“Not bad,” he says. 

He motions with his finger, a little twirl you interpret correctly ordering you to turn around again. You comply.

“You’re a little pale, but with some time in a tanning bed and a little more makeup, you’d fit in at my club. You have a girl-next-door, Mid-western vibe. That’s different that most of the girls down here, and it’d play well. I like it. You want a job, dancing at my club?”

“What?” you ask, with a self-conscious laugh. “Thanks, no. I can’t dance!”

“Hmm . . .” is his only reply. He looks deep in thought. 

Cop shifts again, and Rick does too, still ogling you.

Miami shakes himself. “Thank you. It’s nice to see a pretty girl who’s not self-conscious but not throwing her tits around for attention either.” 

You’ve obviously been dismissed, so you bend to pick up your things—you’re told not too; strip poker, remember? You return to the table nude. 

“So! Are we continuing to play, or what?”

Rick clears his throat and mumbles, “Might need a minute.”

“Or _what,_ exactly?” Cop asks, at the same time.

“That remains to be seen,” Miami answers him, with a devilish grin, “and it depends on how everyone’s feeling. Is everyone tired? Are we done for the night? No more poker, see you in two weeks? Or . . . is everyone interested in one last hand, for the biggest stakes of the night? Winner takes all—and then we see where that takes us?”

You’ve come this far. No one, not even you, is willing enough to sit out, even with that kind of introduction. Miami deals, Miami cheats—now you’re almost positive he cheats!—and Miami wins. 

Four aces.

No one else’s hand even comes close. Which should be an indicator he stacked the deck, but again, there’s no solid proof. 

“Well? What’s your dare, Miami?”

That devilish smirk eclipses his face again. 

“Oh, it’s an orgy,” he announces, like it was obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh . . . ratings goes up in the next chapter, folks.


	5. Chapter 5

No one moves.

Miami looks at everyone around the table, individually, and then his gaze lingers on you. 

“Well, since you haven’t bolted for the door, I’m just going to assume you’re in.”

That flash of heat you’d gotten when Miami and Cop were locking lips flares in your belly again. Maybe it’s just that alien booze talking, maybe it’s your ‘everything could be used in a story’ tenet, maybe it’s just that being asked—nay, ordered—to parade in front of the three of them naked, maybe it’s just that you’ve harbored a thing for Rick, the Rick you knew before you arrived at this penthouse, and now that lust has been tripled, or maybe it’s all of those things, but you meet Miami’s eyes and smirk.

“Okay,” you agree.

Miami is up and out of his chair and around the table at your side in record time. He offers you a hand, and helps you back up out of the chair. He gives you a little tug, and pulled off balance, you fall against him for support. His free hand travels down and cups your ass as he looks down on you.

You can feel his heart beating through the silk of his shirt. 

He flips a look to the other two still sitting. 

“Last call, fellas. Either join in or get out.”

He doesn’t wait to see what their reactions will be. He spins you on your heel and leads you towards a hallway further into the penthouse. On the way passed the bar, he grabs the almost-empty bottle that he’d been filling your glass with all evening. 

There’s a loud sound of two chairs scraping across the floor, and the sounds of two sets of feet following you. 

You see Miami smirk and he ushers you into a bedroom larger than your personal living room. It’s also decorated extravagantly.

“Your bedroom looks like Liberace threw up and used the vomit decorate it,” Rick tells him boorishly.

Miami just shrugged at the insult. “This isn’t my bedroom. It’s just an extra guestroom. My bedroom is reserved for much more . . . private parties.”

He locks eyes with you as he says that, and you blush.

He doesn’t capitalize on that, however. He continues, “Rick, you’ve been a little out of sorts tonight. You didn’t have great hands playing cards, you seemed a little upset your guest here has been such a good sport about all this—are you jealous?”

Rick curled his lip, a little, at the analysis.

Miami left your side and put an arm around Rick’s shoulder, in an affable way.

“Now, in honor of your lovely friend, I haven’t been as good a host as I should have been. But now that we’re here, at this point . . . can I offer you something to help make you feel better? Coke, K-Lax, something more exotic . . .?”

Rick raised an eyebrow to Cop, who was leisurely unbuttoning his shirt.

“Still off duty,” Cop replied with a shrug to the unasked question.

“All right, Miami, let’s see what you’ve got.”

With a laugh, Miami pulls Rick out the door, to another room, extolling the selection of fine crystals and powders he had. You’re left alone with Cop.

He pauses his undressing with three quarters of his buttons open. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want, you know.”

You’d wanted to tell him you’d always been interested in getting to know Rick better, but hadn’t known how to broach the subject; Rick didn’t seem to encourage that type of interaction. You wanted to tell him you’d fantasized about your neighbor. You wanted to tell him there’d been nights you’d masturbated with his name on your lips. 

Instead of saying all that out loud, however, you just closed the distance between the two of you, and helped finish opening his shirt before tugging it out of his waistband. You push it over his narrow shoulders and before he can do or say anything more, you drop to your knees in front of him, your hands on his belt.

Looking up at him, you say, “Do you have any dangerous weapons in here I should know about, Officer Sanchez?”

It’s the cheesiest line you can think of, and you say it in the coyest way possible. Cop actually laughs out loud and brushes your hair out of your face. 

“No, doll, I—“

You work his buckle and have his fly down and trousers opened before he can complete the sentence. You keep direct eye contact with him as you slip your fingers under the elastic of his briefs, and in a swift movement, you de-pants him to his knees, freeing his erection. 

Flicking your gaze between the cock in your face and his eyes, you say, 

“I don’t know, Officer, it certainly looks like you could do some damage with this . . .”

He chuckles again, but before he can respond with anything further, you raise yourself up a little on your knees, licking the underside of his shaft. When you reach the tip, you take him into your mouth. 

One of his hands was still in your hair, and it tightened just like you’d seen before when Miami kissed him. A soft sound escapes him, and you look up his body. His head is thrown back, but starts to drop to his chest again as you pull more of him into your mouth. 

You flatten your tongue and push forward, past your gag reflex, until your nose is pressed against the coarse blue hair covering his pubic bone. His grip on your head doesn’t slacken, and you deep-throat him until you’re almost out of air before pulling back again.

You repeat the motion with the same deliberation a few more times. You watch his cock as it disappears and reappears as you blow him. His fingers are still tangled in your hair. On one outwardly pull, he says, 

“Look at me.”

With the head of his cock still in your mouth you lift your eyes and see him watching you, drool shiny on his lower lip. 

“You’ve got a pretty mouth, baby,” he praises, “but you’re also a fucking tease—“

You smile around the cock in your mouth, and pick up the pace you’re blowing him. You alternate deep, heavy suction with softer, little licks, and like to hear the different sounds that escape him as you do. Cop’s hips stutter, occasionally, and once he holds you in place just past the point of needing a breath. When he releases you that time, you gulp for air, and you feel tears course down your cheeks. 

“You okay, baby?” he asks.

You nod.

“Then do it again,” he orders, and forces his cock down your throat again with just the same force, for the same amount of lung-burningly painful time.

That extreme deep throating is repeated. And repeated. And repeated. 

Lack of reliable oxygen continues to make your eyes water. Excess drool isn’t just his problem anymore either; he’s working you too hard for you to swallow, so it’s soaking your chin, to your neck, and dripping to the carpet between you. The intensity of Cop’s noises hitch, and that fist in your hair somehow becomes tighter—

“Jesus, you’re gonna shoot your load already?” Rick interrupts. “We’ve only been gone like five minutes! Virgin.”

Cop pulls you off him roughly. The air is sweet and you’re grateful for it, but you still look up at him while you use a hand to wipe your chin.

 _“F-f-fuck,”_ he whispers down to you. “I’m gonna come right down your throat, baby. But Rick’s right—I think a break might not be a bad idea.”

He helps you to your feet.


	6. Chapter 6

“Come here, doll,” Miami says, and you go to him, taking the hand he offered you. “Oh, sweet girl. Did that nasty cop mishandle you? That’s police brutality! He's completely wrecked your make up—“

His fingers caress your cheeks. You can only imagine they’re following the tracks of your mascara. You can feel it drying on your face.

“—my girls know to wear waterproof mascara,” Miami continues, with a ‘tsk’. Then he pulls you in closer, and his voice drops a little. “But I like this look on you. Girl-next-door, like I said. The perfect combination of innocent and slutty.”

Before you can respond to that, he kisses you.

Like he’d mentioned previously, his mouth tastes of mint. Your tongue nudges his lips open, seeking his, but the two of you are stopped before the kiss deepens by Rick, who manages to squeeze his slender frame in between you two.

“I told you _no kissing,”_ he growls at Miami, in his face.

Miami held his hands up like he was no threat.

“I thought K-Lax would’ve relaxed him,” Cop says mildly, as he finishes stepping completely out of his pants. 

“It fucking _does!”_ Rick exclaims, hypocritically.

Rick’s eyes are distinctly an odd, blue tinge. He’s panting and looking from you to Cop to Miami and back to you. If he’s having a bad trip—from K-Lax, whatever that is—you’re at least in the best physical position to help ground him.

“Rick, hey Rick,” you say, reaching carefully to take his waist and turn him towards you. His eyes dart around a little before you take his jaw and make him focus on you. “It’s all good, Rick. You invited me here and we’re all having a good time, remember? It’s all good, okay? No kissing, well—“

“I don’t want _him_ or _him_ kissing you!”

“Shh, shh, okay, okay,” you soothe, glancing over Rick’s shoulder to Miami, who shrugs a little with an eye roll. It wouldn’t be your restriction, but now you have a bit of a bead on Rick’s paranoia. You take a step closer and press up against him. “But it’s okay if _I_ kiss, right?”

Through the haze of drugs, you can almost see him thinking the logic of that through.

“Yeah, I guess,” he agrees.

“Good,” you reply, and pull him lower so he can be the first.

His tongue is distinctly less minty and staler alcohol, but then again, you have no idea how your mouth tastes after drinking a majority of a bottle either. Rick grabs at you, cupping your breasts and rolling your nipples and you don’t stop him; it’s a bit arousing to have him a little desperate and needy, even if it’s the drugs talking. 

When he stops, you catch Miami’s eye again before focusing your attention back to Rick. 

“Is it okay if I kiss Miami? Or . . . would you like to?”

Rick’s blue-tinted eyes, which had been roaming your chest, snap to yours. 

“I only met him tonight, but I already know he’s a tactile person,” you tell Rick in a low voice, while you sway a little against him. “He likes kissing. He kissed Rick, and he tried to kiss me . . . I bet he’d kiss you too, if you want . . .”

Miami steps up behind Rick, trapping him between the two of you.

“Would you like that, Rick?” you ask again. But even as you wait for his response, you gently turn him towards the other man.

An inarticulate noise, on par with a needy moan, slips from his parted lips. 

Miami seems to take that as a proper answer and closes his mouth over your neighbor’s. 

Pressed to his back, you can only get a little of the show Cop must be witnessing. The two Ricks in front of you linger, their mouths making soft sounds as the kiss deepens. Just that much stirs desire in your gut. You’d always had a bit of a kink for guys kissing, hence your earlier request, but never in your wildest dreams had you thought of two Rick Sanchezes making out while you were standing naked against one of them.

Reaching around between them, your hand finds two stiff cocks trapped behind fabric. Both men moan in the exact same tone as you palm them.

That doubling of sound gives you a shiver. As both of them turn to you with blown pupils and shiny, semi-parted, just kissed lips, that shiver traverses your entire body, and you can’t help but moan a little too.

Rick is immediately back on you. Miami lets him go and starts removing his own clothing.

Rick spins you and forces you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you tumble down to it. He follows you down, groping and peppering you with kisses while hastily trying to shed clothing. His hands are everywhere, trying to do everything all at once, and managing to accomplish very little.

You laugh at his attempts, and he tries to be offended, but you shove your tongue in his mouth and keep it there while you help unfasten his belt and pants and push them as far down his spidery legs as possible, as well as help him as he shrugs his coat off. As he pulls his shirt up, it gets caught under his chin and there’s a flurry of movement as he tries to extract himself.

It makes you laugh again, but quickly he’s naked and he throws himself on top of you. He’s long and sinewy and his body is warmer than you would have expected. His hands are everywhere again, flitting like pinchy little hummingbirds. 

The mattress shifts as Cop sits down, near the head of the bed. 

Rick’s attached himself to your neck, limpet-like, but you throw a hand out to Cop. 

“Come here?” you ask.

Rick growls his disapproval at the suggestion and nips your throat, making you yelp.

Cop declines to take your hand. “I’m good for now, doll,” he tells you, leaning back and stoking himself.

“Our fine officer of the law likes to watch,” Miami explains further, as he settles, now nude too, onto the bed close to you. “He’s developed a bit of a voyeurism kink because of some surveillance stakeouts he’s done.”

“That’s not entirely true—“

Miami waved off Cop’s disagreement of the explanation. “I know, I know, Rick. You’ll jump back in later.”

Cop blew out a breath and you thought maybe he was upset, but he continued to pull his cock in long, easy strokes and smiled a bit at you. You smile back, as best you can, before your attention is brought back to Rick. He’s worked his way down to your tits, and worrying a nipple. You gasp and grab his head.

Miami has scooted in and pressed into your side. He’s brought that bottle from the bar with him, and takes a sip before leaning over you and putting his mouth on yours. 

As your lips part under the pressure, you discover he hadn’t swallowed. The booze slips from his mouth into yours. It’s slightly warmer than you’d had it previously, and the flavors are amplified. Your mouth is immediately hungry for more, and you grab at him to keep him in place. 

A chuckle you more feel than hear comes from his throat. 

However, if you thought Rick was distracted enough to not notice Miami kissing you, you’re wrong. He lifts his head with a growl, spitting, 

_“What did I say—“_

You break it off and try to soothe his possessive paranoia with reassurances; Miami just laughs in his face and twists to kiss him again too. 

Now you do get front row viewing to the two of them kissing, since they’re right over your chest. There must have been a residual coating of alcohol in Miami’s mouth, because Rick grasps at him just as you did, pulling the other man in by the back of the neck. With the give and take of the kiss, you can see Rick’s tongue lapping at Miami’s.

You moan at the sight, and snake a hand down to your pussy.

Miami gives Rick the same chuckle he gave you, and pulls back a little. Rick’s eyes are closed, lost in the lingering taste of the other man’s mouth, but Miami flicks his gaze down your body and smirks a little that you’re touching yourself. 

“Rick has a very talented tongue,” he purrs into your ear. You tremble, but he ignores that and addresses Rick, “You want to demonstrate, Rick?”

Drug-addled or not, praise always works with Rick Sanchez. He’s back from the slight high of the liquor—his eyes are gradually fading back to normal too—and he smirks before going back to your nipple. It’d gotten softer without attention and he works it back to a peak before nipping his way further down your body. Miami pinches the other to make it hard too, muttering,

“You’d look good with piercings, baby girl. Something for another time, though.”

That tremble runs through you again at his words. 

Rick makes it almost to your groin. He presses a kiss with teeth to the soft area between your navel and pubic bone, and your legs automatically fall open. He settles between them, kneeling on the floor, and without much further ado, licks a broad stipe through your pussy.

You arch your back at the sensation, and gasp.

Miami laughs too.

After the initial wake-up call to your nerve endings, Rick buries his face in you. Miami wasn’t just paying lip service: Rick’s tongue and mouth are _sinful._ He’s relentless, too; other guys who’ve gone down on you eventually take a break to rest their jaw, but he alternates tongue-fucking you and suckling your clit. You’re immediately mewling and writhing.

Miami catches your chin. You open your eyes as he forces you to turn towards him; he takes another mouthful of alcohol and repeats kissing you and draining it into your mouth. You’ve never swallowed anything with someone else’s tongue in your mouth until it dawns on you it’s pretty similar to a blow job, so you just do it. The act of swallowing traps his tongue between yours and your hard palate, and he gasps a little before extracting himself.

You strain for him as he does, still whimpering due to Rick’s administrations between your legs and your eagerness for that warmed booze.

“Oh baby, if you think that’s good—“ Miami says in a low voice, before turning his attention back to Rick. “Hey. Give her one second to catch her breath.”

Rick hums. The vibration makes you arch your back again, and the pleasure pushes, pushes higher _higher—_

He backs off before you can come.

A thin whine escapes you, making the two of them chuckle. There’s even a soft laugh from behind you, from Cop.

Before you can complain or beg, Miami lifts the mostly empty bottle holds it over your groin. Carefully, he tips it so that slightly-thicker-than-normal liquid trickles out. His aim is good; it decants right at the top of your slit and slides downward.

You jerk in surprise. The tiny bubbles tingle on your already swollen and stimulated pussy and you moan as if Rick’s tongue is still there. Because it’s syrupy, it takes its own time oozing down the length of your slit, warming as it goes. 

You manage to look down at Rick, who’s wiping his mouth as if excess drool is suddenly a problem for him. Miami says to him, “What’re you waiting for?”, in a slightly exasperated tone, and he surges forward again. Just as his mouth locks on to your clit again, Miami wrenches your face back to him.

He presses the bottle to your mouth and orders, 

“Tongue this while he’s tonguing you, baby.”

You obey.

You use your mouth on the lip and collar of the bottle like it’s a cock, taking it into your mouth, and wiggle your tongue inside the bore, lapping up the residual booze. Even though he isn’t watching what you’re doing, Rick, between your legs, mimics it. His tongue slurps at you, in you, and you moan even with the bottle in place. Rick licks a quick few circles around your clit, then, unexpectedly, puts heavy, direct pressure on it.

That sends a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to your core, and your legs snap shut around his head, holding him in place 

Miami yanks the bottle out from between your lips just as you throw your head back, crying out wordlessly, and climax.

It might be due to the booze, but you come down from it more gradually than typical. Rick doesn’t complain, even if he’s running out of oxygen, but it suddenly occurs to you to loosen your thighs again so he can have some air. 

He sits back, panting, licking his lips and wiping his mouth.

Your body shakes and you can’t quite form words yet. 

Cop can, however. 

_“Jesus,”_ he mutters.


	7. Chapter 7

You can still hear the soft sound of Cop's hand fondling himself and want to invite him down again, but Rick says, 

“You got more K-Lax? I could use another hit.”

“You gonna not be so fucking paranoid?” Miami retorts sharply. 

“Yeah. It’s cool. Just a bad go of it, first time. I got a little weird because of her being here . . .” Rick replies, in a very un-Rick-like, sheepish way.

“Fine. You know where it is.”

Rick pushes himself up and walks away. You try to watch him go. Miami, however, has different ideas for your attention. He kisses you again briefly, before you’re told, 

“He’s going to be whacked out no matter what he says. I want to fuck you, baby, but he’s not going to be happy about that.”

“We’re not dating or anything,” you protest. “He’s just my neighbor.”

He looks at you with a smile dripping with condescension. “You’re going to have to upgrade that title, baby girl. Friends with benefits, at the very least. Fuck buddies might be more accurate.”

You try to scowl, but a giggle breaks through it.

“Well, then,” you finally say, “what _can_ I do for you? What can I _do_ to you?”

You twist around and slither down his front, leaving long trails from your tongue on his chest. You nip at him; his skin erupts in little red marks that fade when you move on. You keep eye contact as long as possible with him, even as your chin brushes over his silvery pubic hair.

“Would _this_ be okay?” you ask coquettishly.

“She’s a fucking tease, Miami,” Cop butts in.

You purse your lips, like Cop’s being mean, then ghost them over his shaft without actually touching his skin as you sink further down, proving his point.

“Noted,” Miami replies, looking down at you poised over his cock.

You bite a fingertip, as if you’re thinking the whole thing over, then say, “Maybe I need to be more clear . . . would you like this, _Daddy?”_

There’s a sharp intake of his breath and his face goes soft for a moment at your use of that title before he licks his lower lip. He barely starts to nod before you engulf his entire cock with one go.

Miami’s hips jerk upward, and you swirl your tongue around him. You pull upward and start to drop back down, but he catches the side of your head and prevents you from completing the motion.

You raise your eyebrows to look a question at him.

“I told you I wanted to fuck you.”

“And then you said Rick was going to be upset by it.”

“Yeah, but I have a compromise that he can’t complain about.”

Your brow furrows, and you lick the tip of his cock. Miami manages to lift your jaw as he leans down close to your face. 

“You into anal, baby?”

Your breath hitches just like his did, and he takes that as the positive it is. 

He helps you back on the bed, and has you lay on your stomach. Now you get a good view of Cop pleasuring himself. He’s not self-conscious about you staring at him. As Miami fiddles with a bottle of lube he procured from a drawer near the table, you bite your lip watching his hand pull up and slide back down on his cock, while the other cups his balls. The motion is steady and hypnotic.

A dollop of lube drips down the crack of your ass. There’s a rummaging on the mattress beside you and the discarded glass bottle rolls into your side. It’s cold and you jump, because you weren’t expecting it, and you were distracted watching Cop.

“Look here,” Miami orders.

You look back at him. He manages to pour the very last of the alcohol onto his fingertips. 

“I’m sure you’ve realized this is absorbed by the mucus membranes.”

You hadn’t.

But with no further explanation, Miami uses those fingers to start stretching you open.

It’s been some time since you’ve done anything like that, and truthfully, while you enjoyed some of it, your partner at the time wasn’t great at it. You turn your face to the duvet in anticipation of pain. Miami uses his free hand to give you a light slap and admonishes not to be so tense. You can feel the tingly sensation from the booze and it has the same effect here as before of igniting nerve endings, sending little sparks of pleasure up into your core.

In a very short time, he adds more lube and a third finger. You moan; it’s a delicious ache. It’s muffled by the blanket. 

Eventually Miami slaps your ass again, and tells you to turn over.

He lays back on the bed, and directs you to straddle him, your back to his front, like he intuits you need some control of the position. Very carefully, you do as he says. With a hand on his cock, you slip it along your pussy—that’s for you, the length and warmth of his cock along your slit from clit back makes you moan—before holding him steady and pressing downward. He holds your hips to keep you steady.

The initial sting of the head of his cock breaching that ring of muscle makes you tense slightly again, and the third slap he gives you smarts. It distracts you from the other pain and you lower yourself further, panting. It seems to take forever. 

You’ve almost got yourself completely on him when he grabs your hips and jerks you downward, finishing you off. 

A full body tremble shakes you, and you moan in a very deep voice, 

“Oh, _Daddy . . .”_

 _“Shit—“_ he responds. “Lay back, baby—holy _shit—“_

Like so many times tonight, you follow his order and ease back onto his chest. With your legs spread outside his and your back just slightly arched along him, you feel opened and exposed. Miami keeps hold of your hips and uses his hands to rotate them in a minute circle. The sensation of his cock in your ass and that small movement makes you feel loose.

“You see, baby, you— _oh!—_ you can dance for me—“ Miami murmurs in your ear.

You close your eyes and can’t stop moaning.

Unexpectedly, there are fingers in your mouth. You jump and Miami hisses below you.

Cop doesn’t apologize. “You’re so fucking hot, laying on him like that, your tits on display like a goddamn art exhibit—I need you to wet my fucking hand—“

You don’t hesitate to do as he commands, sucking his fingers and licking his palm. He withdraws just as abruptly and by tilting your head backward over Miami’s shoulder you can see him use his now-slick hand to jerk off with a little more speed. 

New fingers slip along your pussy, and your attention is snapped back to Rick. 

His eyes have returned to the pale blue color, and a string of drool hangs from his lower lip as he watches himself finger your labia. You want to push down onto him, but Miami’s hands hold you in place and continue your small gyrations. You can barely put the magic word together but it comes suddenly back to you:

 _“Daddy,”_ you whimper, even with your eyes locked on Rick.

Miami jerks under you, which has the desired effect of slipping Rick’s fingers a little into you.

You gasp and laugh at the same time.

“Took you long enough to get back here,” Cop says to Rick. “You’re missing the show.”

“Miami only keeps K-Lax crystals. Had to powder it myself,” Rick replies.

“K-Lax is better when it’s fresh—“ Miami joins in. That’s entirely too much talking, so you deliberately move your hips the opposite direction and he cuts himself off, _“—oh shit baby, just like that—“_

“Mmm-hmm, Daddy,” you reply.

Rick hasn’t done much more but stand, mesmerized, with his fingers just inside you.

“You j-just want to watch, like Rick back there, or you going to join in?” you ask him in a breathy little voice. 

You see his gaze flick over your shoulder to the man under you, and Miami chuckles. 

“This is for you too, asshole,” the man below you says. “I figured with the way you were acting, her pussy was yours—“

Rick lifts his lip in a semi-snarl, semi-smile, and wipes his hand over his chin to collect the spit accumulated there. He smears the wet on your pussy, making it slicker. He steps in between your and Miami’s legs without asking for either of you to make more room for him, and runs his cock down your pussy to lubricate it. You feel him find the right spot—

“Don’t tense up, babydoll,” Miami warns quietly, tickling your ear—

—and Rick pops his hips forward, his cock opening you up. He doesn’t stop moving until his pubic bone is pressed against your clit.

Despite the warning you’d been given, the sensation of two cocks deep inside you, filling you beyond what you’d ever felt before makes you tense in your core, lifting yourself off Miami’s chest while you cry out.

“Easy, baby, easy,” he soothes, and tugs you back down to him. 

You can’t form words. The only sounds that come out of you are sharp little pants.

“You okay?” Rick mutters, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to be patient enough to wait if you say no. 

“Y-y-yeah,” you stutter, and it’s good enough for him.

He fucks you, hard. The miniscule movements Miami loosened you up with were a good idea, because your entire body is jerked during the brisk thrusts Rick pounds you with. Your entire lower half is on fire—you can’t tell where they begin and you end, you’ve never been so full and stuffed with cock and each time Rick brushes your clit when he’s seated deep inside you the ecstasy builds and builds—

Miami’s hands are white-knuckled on your hips. Rick mutters the same words over and over, “—your cunt, your cunt, your cunt—“ in praise and you scrabble to grab him to pull him closer, needing something to hold on to as you threaten to lose yourself in this. 

Rick is so deep and his movements so rough you’re sure he’s bruising your cervix. You don’t care. You only want to climb higher and higher, and urge him on to do so, crying his name, making animalistic noises you never knew could come out of your mouth, begging, begging, please, oh god, _please—_

Your orgasm pulls you like an undertow. You can’t breathe, you can’t fight against it; it consumes your entire being and drags you along until you’re limp and boneless.

When you’re finally able to open your eyes again, Rick’s tempo had slowed, just a little. He sees you come around and raises his eyebrows. You don’t protest—you don’t have the strength—and he picks his pace up again.

Your throat is raw from moaning and crying out, but he continues to pull new sounds, mewling, needy whimpers, out of you.

Contractions in your pussy, lingering from your climax, tighten and release around him, and it isn’t much longer before Rick shoves into you as hard as he can, gasping and moaning in his own release, coming deep inside you.

Several seconds pass before Rick can peel himself off you. He steps back, unsteadily, and his pulling his cock out of your pussy feels like the loss of some vital part of you. 

There’s a gush of wet that slips out of you, along with him, and your drop your hand there. You come away with a palmful of semen streaked with a little blood—Rick had hit your cervix!—and wonder what to do about it. 

“Did you come?” Rick asks and you’re about to answer him, before realizing he’s talking to Miami.

“Yes I fucking came,” Miami spits back. “Christ, she was tight before and when you started, it was fucking a virgin!”

“You’re saying you were the virgin, getting off so fast?”

Miami growled but it changed to a sigh as you extract yourself off him. Now you feel completely empty. You wiggle around till you’re on your belly, and whisper, 

“Thank you, Daddy,” before kissing him soundly on the mouth. 

Rick makes a noise behind you and you break it off to give him a hard stare. 

_“I_ kissed _him._ And get me a Kleenex,” you tell him, not-so-gently, and he holds his hands up in defeat, then finds you a tissue to wipe your hand clean with. 

Miami grins at the exchange. “Thanks, babydoll. Now, I bet you’re tired, but there’s one thing left to do.”

The look on your face is confused for a moment, until he lifts his chin up and backwards.

You follow where he indicated. 

Cop.


	8. Chapter 8

He’s still leaning back against the pillows at the head of the bed, still stroking himself. Unlike earlier, however, he does look more flushed and slightly sweaty. His cock looks stiffer than you recall, and the color of it is deeper. You can see a shiny bead of pre-come at the tip.

“Go on,” Miami orders, flicking you to get you moving. 

As slack as your lower half feels, you scramble up the mattress to Cop. He smiles down at your messed hair, destroyed make-up, and reddened face. 

“Rick and Miami wrecked you,” he tells you quietly. His hand never stops.

You don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or if he’s not as interested in you now. He can tell you’re confused. 

“I fucking like it, doll,” he admits, snaking his free hand into your hair, just like before. “So fucking hot—“

That gives you confidence, even if you feel completely disheveled.

“You must have some pretty strong willpower, then,” you rib, licking the corner of your mouth. “Front row to a live sex show? How’d you control yourself, Officer?”

His smile widens. “I edged myself quite a bit. Wasn’t easy . . . watching you settle yourself on Miami’s dick, Rick shoving his so far in you your entire body jerked—christ, you’re something, you know?”

You shrug, demurely. 

“I like watching,” Cop admits, “like Miami said. But you know what else, doll?”

His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head slightly to that side and making your mouth fall open at the unexpected force of it. He leans toward you, and his next words are whispered bluntly. 

“I want you to myself, without those other two assholes touching you at the same time. I don’t like to share—some ingrained Rick thing, I think. Come here and suck my dick right now.”

You clamber forward at his order. He spreads his legs to accommodate you, and you lay sprawled in front of him, hiking yourself up on your elbows to take him into your mouth again. His cock is hot and from the drawn-out moan Cop makes as you pull him in, obviously sensitive. He doesn’t release your hair, his hand moving you along at a rate he dictates, not you.

He repeats the tempo he set earlier: Blistering, with long pauses ball’s deep in your mouth. The position is awkward and puts a strain on your neck, and after a few minutes of it you fight to regain some control of the situation.

Cop snarls wordlessly at your presumptive stopping, but you don’t let him win, no matter how he twists his hand in your hair. You remove your mouth but wrap your fingers around his cock in its place and stroke, similar to what he’d done earlier, but the amount of spit you’d coated him with must be better than the mostly dry hand he’d been using. Your willingness to not let him go mollified him for a moment as you reposition yourself to your hands and knees instead of belly-down on the mattress. 

Once you’re more comfortable, you lick up his shaft and swallow him again.

“Holy shit,” you hear one of the Ricks behind you mutter. It’s hard to determine who said it; they all sound pretty much sound the same. “Her like that—ass and pussy on display—I’d fuck her again—“

“If you weren’t so old?” the other Rick finished, laughing. 

“Fuck you, d-bag—“

Maybe Cop wasn’t paying attention to the other two, but you chuckle around the cock in your mouth and that does grab his notice.

“All eyes on me, baby,” he commands, lifting your chin upward but not displacing himself. 

You raise your eyes to see his face.

“Yeah, that’s it—I like seeing my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours and you looking at me—fuck, baby— _fuck—_ just like that, just like that—“

It’s difficult to keep your gaze locked on his, especially when you’re on a downward motion, taking his cock to the back of your throat, but you do the best you can. The pace he continues to set is easier now that you’re more over him instead of at the same level, and with the extra control you’re also able to slip your tongue in an anti-clockwise swirl as he pulls you up.

The first time you do it surprises him—

 _“Fucking hell!”_

—so you throw it every once in a while to keep him climbing higher towards the inevitable cliff of orgasm.

Cop’s words disintegrate the closer he gets. 

“F-fuck, baby, fuck—right there, oh _fuck,_ oh _f-f-fuck—“_

You grab the hand he has planted on the side of your head—he’s unconsciously pulling now, and it _hurts—_ and wrench it off you. He’s so close he doesn’t fight you. His fingers spasm and clasp intertwined between yours. 

You deep throat him again and wait. His noises now are just drawn-out moans. There’s a hitch in his diaphragm and his thighs tense minutely, and in a rush you disengage yourself from him, opening your mouth, releasing his cock, and sitting back.

It startles him, and his whole body lurches at the sudden change of temperature from the inside of your mouth to room air on his cock. 

His eyelids flutter, then his blue eyes find yours. 

“What the actual fuck?!” he croaks, like words are something his throat forgot how to form.

Leisurely you wipe your mouth and chin with the back of your hand. 

“Earlier you said you wanted to come down my throat. Is that still what you want to do?” you ask innocently. “I just wanted to make sure. There isn’t anything else I could do for you—?“

 _“Jesus fucking christ!”_ he almost shouts. _“Fucking yes you tease—“_

In a flash, you drop back on him, swallowing him to his pubic bone, applying the heaviest suction you possibly can without gagging.

The rant he tried to say is broken off with a keening, high-pitched wail at the pleasure that consumes him, and Cop arches his pelvis upward, managing to shove his cock just a bit further into you as he climaxes.

Thick, slightly salty come erupts onto the back of your throat and you let it pool there, holding your breath until he starts to relax, his body jerking in tiny, random tics as he does. 

As Cop settles back, his cock slips from between your lips. A string of semen stretches between the tip of his cock to your mouth; you break it with your fingers as you swallow, and smile up at him.

It takes him several moments to collect himself before he can open his eyes and return the smile. 

“Kleenex?” you offer, pulling one from the box Rick must have supplied you with earlier.

Mutely, he accepts it and drapes it over his cock, which is still leaking a minute amount.

“Come here, baby,” he says, in a voice much more affectionate then when you were actively blowing him.

You comply.

Cop pulls you close but seems to recall Rick wasn’t enthusiastic about kissing. He says quietly, just for you to hear, “Thanks. You really are something.”

You smile and kiss him fully on the mouth, slipping your tongue between his lips while throwing a glance towards where you think Rick is as if to dare him to make a fuss. 

He doesn’t.

Rick does, however, help you up and with Miami on your other side—you are more sore than expected, and walking is more a mincing little steps than actual strides—they take you to the en suite. Miami furnishes you with soaps and soft cloths, powders and perfumes, but Rick is the one to assist you cleaning up.

He’s surprisingly patient and gentle. He makes sure the water is warm and carefully washes you from shoulders to knees, including your groin. The washcloth carefully wipes away all the spit and semen from your inside thighs. It’s unexpected but not unwelcome. He lays aside that cloth and prepares another to dab at your face. 

“Sorry I got a little . . . possessive . . . out there,” he even says, sheepishly. “I know you’re not—we’re not seeing each other, or a couple, or anything even remotely like that . . .”

You murmur a non-committal response.

“Maybe it was the drugs, I don’t know—“ he continues, and suddenly it occurs to you you just fucked three versions of Rick Sanchez. You have no reason to be prim, bashful, or anything but straight-forward.

A new thought nips at the heels of that one: Maybe your neighbor Rick hadn’t been disinterested in you; maybe you’d just been too blind to subtle indications. Like him talking to you. Or him answering your stupid questions. Or him inviting you along to a poker game . . .

“Were you being like that because you want to be more than neighbors?” you ask him directly. 

He looks startled at the question, then gives it serious thought. 

Finally he hedges, “Maybe . . .”

You want more from him than that. “Then why weren’t you more direct about it? You’re not the type to pussy-foot around something!”

Rick shook his head. “Maybe I was worried because I’m so much older than you! You don’t need a septuagenarian tying you down when you’re in the prime of your life!”

“Three older men just fucked the hell out of me, and it was the best sex of my life!” !” you counter.

His mouth snaps shut, like he hadn’t thought of that. 

He opens his mouth to reply, then shuts it again. His brow furrows. Suddenly, a new thought skips through your mind: even though his eyes aren’t discolored, he’s probably still coming down from the high that K-Lax gave him. You guessed those confessions he’d probably never admit to sober and the confusion like thoughts were hard to pin down were preferable to a fugue state or whatever other lingering side effect that drug might have.

“Never mind, Rick,” you tell him, making a mental note to ask Miami if Rick was going to remember this conversation. “Let’s go find my clothes.”

You clothes were laid out for you, courtesy of Cop. You know it’s Cop because Miami tried to ply you with a few pieces of clothing “he had for occasions like these”; you diplomatically decline because you have nowhere to wear dresses designed for clubbing and slip into what you wore here.

He does press a thin necklace on you, telling you it was gift, that he likes to dress up pretty girls with pretty things, and you’d hurt his feelings if you didn’t take it. The pendant is round and looks like it contains a galaxy of stars, and sits perfectly in the hollow of your throat. 

Cop huffs and tugs you close like he’d done on the bed to whisper in your ear, 

“Don’t lose that. It’s worth more than I make in half a year.”

You pull back to look and see if he’s joking. He’s not. You consider removing it and refusing to take it, but he continues, 

“Keep it. He’s right, it’s beautiful on you.”

Risking the wrath of Rick that he hadn’t before, he kisses you. Rick does grumble, but you flip him off. From the corner of his eye, Cop sees it and his snickering breaks the kiss. 

Miami offers another drink, or a cigarette, to everyone. He invites you all to stay and get some sleep. Cop says he has a shift in the morning. You thank him but should get home too, looking at Rick since he’s your ride. 

Miami sidles up to you again, slipping his arms around your waist and swaying slightly.

“You think about that job, babydoll. Good money. And now I _know_ you can dance.”

“She’s already got a job,” Rick answered for you. “She’s a writer. She doesn’t need to turn tricks in your club, Miami.”

He frowned dramatically. “Just something to think about. If you want something extra, you know. For a book.”

You stretch up on your tiptoes towards him. “Thanks, Daddy,” you murmur, just for him. 

That frown immediately morphs to a smile. “Fuck, baby. That’s wicked coming out of your mouth.”

You bite your lower lip coquettishly and step back. Rick has his portal gun out and is punching in the coordinates. Miami tells you you’re welcome back, anytime, and tells Rick to not be such a dick and to make sure he drinks enough fluids because of the amount of K-Lax he took.

“Science-fiction author, you said?” Cop asks, just as he hits the button on his own portal gun and its doorway is created.

Nodding, you say, “Yes. Although maybe with everything that’s happened tonight, I might jump genres and do some erotica . . .” You pause for a moment, then wind and muse aloud, “. . . it’ll still be sci-fi, though. Because who’s going to believe me getting off with three older, identical men?”

_fin._


End file.
